L'oiseau Bleu
by Kitsune232
Summary: Bluebird of Happiness, where are you now? ...someone, tell me please. [BEING RE-WRITTEN]
1. Prologue: Humble Beginnings

**So I'm updating/redoing all three of my stories. However, it's different from the one I previously had posted, as I've decided not to continue Miku's story, as it had little to no favorites/follows/reviews. Sorry for anyone who did like that story.**

**Feedback is appreciated in all forms; be it accolades or criticism. I'm not all that picky. **

**_Disclaimer!_**** I own a computer; that's about it.**

**Note: I will be translating nearly all Japanese phrases; for example, phrases like "itadakimasu," will become "thanks for the meal," and such and such. However, honorifics (like -san, -chan, -kun, etc.) and titles (like -sensei, Kaa-san, nee-chan, nii-chan, etc.) will be kept and explained at the end of the chapter. Food will also remain the same; i.e. 'taiyaki,' will ****_not_**** become 'baked sea bream,' etc.**

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**L'OISEAU BLEU**

**—PROLOGUE―**

_Humble Beginnings_

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_I don't want to be writing this. There are so many other, more purposeful things that I could be doing**―**spending time with my older brother (whom I rarely see now that he's in college) for example. However, seeing as how Okabe-sensei's**―**my Language Arts teacher**―**latest assignment is to write in a diary/journal at least once every day for the rest of the school year, I'm kind of stuck._

_Yeah. He said something about how this should prove to be... I think his exact words were "therapeutic in this awkward period of adolescence," or whatever._

_I don't know who the hell he thinks he's fooling, but frankly, who in their right mind (adolescent or not) is comfortable with having their daily thoughts, struggles, and whatever else they decide to write in a journal/diary/whatever read and then _graded?

_No one, that's who._

_Still, it isn't exactly like I can not do this assignment; this is worth about forty-percent of my overall grade, so, I can't afford to not do it._

_(seriously though Okabe-sensei; you're off your rocker if you think that this will "help" anyone!)_

_Let's see. What else is there to talk about? Well, Okabe-sensei said we can talk about anything―even ourselves._

_Well, here goes nothing._

_Hi. I'm Naori Watanabe (but most people just call me 'Nao,'). I'm sixteen years old, and I attend Ouran Private Academy as a second-year student in Class B―would have been Class C, since my step-dad's new money and I'm not his biological child anyway, but apparently my grades are high enough that I could be bumped up a class._

_Yippee._

_Um... I have frizzy, cinnamon brown hair (that I keep up in a ponytail more than half the time to hide its frizzy nature) and hazel brown eyes. I have three siblings: an older brother, a younger sister, and a younger step-brother. Besides that, I have very few people that I would call friends, and most of them are a year younger than me―though that's not necessarily a bad thing―and the ones that I do―or rather, _did_―have that are my age moved on to a different high school, so... yeah. And I've never tried to connect with the people here, and subsequently, they've never tried to connect with me._

_...actually, that's a lie; a group of girls did invite me to eat lunch with them once, but gave up after I showed little to no signs of response. Pity, because I had enjoyed their company._

_Ah, well. One of my old friends decided to try and enroll in Ouran through the scholarship program, so I guess this year won't be so bad. But there's still the issue of actually finding her; I checked all her usual haunts: classrooms, library rooms―all four of them―and I even called her house to check if she had gone home. She hadn't, and I had to apologize to Ranka-san for waking him up._

_I had to admit; at that point, I was starting to get kind of worried. I hadn't seen her at all, and when I asked others they just shrugged and moved on. She doesn't have a cell phone, so I couldn't call her._

_But it was already late, and Yamato―my older brother―had already arrived to pick me up. Well, I doubt that the beefy security guards I had seen outside the campus would let any of the students get kidnapped._

_...I hope._

_Yours,_

_Nao_

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**A/N: Well? What do you think? Put your thoughts in a review!**

**Glossary****:**

**-sensei: Typically, it's used to address teachers; however, in anime that I've watched, you address doctors with this honorific as well.**

**-san: This is the most commonplace honorific, and is gender-neutral; basically, it's title of respect used amongst equals of any age. Um... the closest analog in the English language that I can think of are the titles: Mister, Misses, and Miss. **


	2. Fate's Prank

**_Disclaimer!_**** Me No Own; You No Sue.**

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**—CHAPTER ONE— **

_Fate's Prank_

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So I found out where Haruhi had been the previous day. Apparently, she had been put off by the amount of noise that was emitted inside the library rooms, and had instead decided to venture off towards the Music Rooms. More specifically, the _Third_ Music Room.

The one that houses the club activities for the Ouran Host Club.

I had heard of the Host Club before; in this school, you'd have to be literally living under a rock not to have, as it was comprised of some of the hottest guys in school—including the Chairman's own son. However, the idea of going had never particularly interested me before.

At least, not until now, when I heard the rumors that the "commoner" had just joined the Host Club as a glorified servant of the Host Club for unknown reasons—though presumably, it was due to his own volition.

Now, I am _very_ interested in going—_especially_ when I heard that everyone thought that the scholarship student was _male_.

_God damn it, Haruhi! It was your_ first day of school!_ How the hell had you managed that?_ _And why are you letting people think you're a_ guy?_ What is this, a shōjo manga?_

And so, after school I found myself directly outside of the Third Music Room, my eyes narrowed and my lips tightly pursed. After a few seconds, I found myself flinging the door open, and reflexively shut my eyes when I saw the influx of light that came out through the door, an involuntary smile crossing my lips when I recognized the flowery scent of rose petals.

"Welcome!"

My eyes slowly opened, and I blinked as I tried to rid my vision of the resulting photopsia. And as my vision cleared and I actually _saw_ the room's occupants...well, I'm not ashamed to admit that I was openly gaping at them, my jaw laying forgotten somewhere on the floor.

Standing before me were beings that I had previously believed to only exist on the covers of magazines. All six of them had perfectly proportioned faces without a sign of asymmetry—seriously, I think if you measured their facial proportions, it would come out as perfectly even—skin that was free of any blemishes, imperfections, or any combination thereof, hair that was prettier than mine—which was seriously _not fair_—and nearly all of them were taller than me. By a lot.

_Not. Fair._

And then I noticed someone else who was at the back of the room, clearly trying to remain unnoticed amongst the Victorian-style furniture, but only succeeding in remaining completely visible with her threadbare grey sweater, worn straight-legged jeans, sneakers so old that I could see that it was being held together by electrical tape, messily-cut (as in, it looked like she had done it with shears) short brown locks, and her face mostly covered by the awful coke-bottle glasses she was wearing.

Ignoring the blonde's—someone I vaguely recognized as Tamaki Suoh, one of the co-founders of the club—attempts at flirting with me, I skated right past him towards the direction of my original target, having developed a sort of tunnel vision.

"Haruhi Fujioka!"

At the sound of my authoritative, no nonsense tone, Haruhi seemed to subconsciously straighten. And when her eyes landed on me, they went wide beneath her _awful_ coke-bottle glasses.

"Nao-senpai! What—?"

I stopped right in front of her, my arms crossed. "Haruhi, how do you always manage to get yourself into these types of situations? Honestly! You've been in this school one day—_one day!_—and you _still_ managed to get yourself into this mess... what's the reason for it this time?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but is promptly bulldozed over.

"And don't you _dare_ say you entered this club of your own volition, Haruhi; I know you, and I know that you would _never_ _voluntarily_ join a club that's not some sort of study group. So tell me: _what is the reason for it this time?_"

Haruhi seemed to have a classic example of one might call the "deer in the headlights" expression. "Um... I broke a vase...?"

I paused._ Is this some sort of joke? Am I supposed to laugh?_

My eyes narrowed as I searched for a hint that she was lying to me and/or joking—which in itself is a rarity. _Nothing_.

I sighed, and asked, "What type of vase, Haruhi? And how much did it cost, exactly?"

Knowing her, the vase was going to be expensive as all hell.

"The vase itself was from the Renaissance period, and was hand-crafted by René Lalique himself." a matter-of-fact voice said from behind me, the faint _scrit-scrit_ of a pen on paper accompanying it. "We had been planning to start the bidding at about eight million yen."

_What._

I nursed my temples. "You mean to tell me that you somehow managed to get yourself into a debt of—" I choked, "—eight million yen... on your first day at Ouran Academy—by breaking a vase."

"Um... yes?"

...

"Oh, Lord."


End file.
